


Stargazing

by Birdbitch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 15:10:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Navigating a feeling of weightlessness together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stargazing

“It’s cold and dark out here. Come back to the party with the rest of us.” Bahorel steps out of a window and into the night to stand beside Jehan on the widow’s watch of the house. Courfeyrac’s place tonight, Combeferre’s the next, never Enjolras’s for fear of his still present parents, though the party always cycled through the rest of them. Jehan just had a haircut, and feeling at least 60% lighter with less than half the protection he used to have, the wind seems to dig deeper under his skin. Bahorel’s hand is warm on the back of his neck when it comes to rest there.

“I think I’m in the middle of an existential crisis,” Jehan says, and he turns his head to look at Bahorel. “Who’s still here?”

“Virtually everyone. What’s the crisis?”

“I stepped out for a breath of fresh air and was struck by the abyss.” His head tilts up to indicate the starry sky above them, the stars themselves looking like pinpricks or dandruff. Bahorel himself tries very hard to avoid existential crises, but he can sympathize with Jehan, at least for the most part, and he moves his hand from the nape of his neck to his shoulder and pulls him closer. Jehan leans into the touch and looks instead up at Bahorel.

Bahorel is not the oldest of them (that varies between Bossuet, Grantaire, and Combeferre, all depending on how drunk any of them are) but he still seems significantly older to Jehan, who is, in fact, the youngest of their group. Technically, he’s not really old enough to drink, but nobody is stopping anybody if they’re a few months shy of 21 and honestly, he hasn’t had even really that much in the first place. Regardless, he feels small and young and inexperienced, even with just a couple of years between them, and he’s tempted at first to look away and then instead to look back.

“I’ve still got glow in the dark stars stuck on my ceiling from when I was a kid,” Bahorel says. “I’ll bet that my abyss is much less threatening than this one.”

“You might be right.” For a moment, Jehan thinks about the feeling of beard stubble (grown back already after just a day of being shaven away entirely) against his own skin, and he pushes it out of his mind so that he can focus instead on getting back to Bahorel’s house with him. Instead, he moves away from Bahorel and back into the party, and he can feel the taller man trailing behind him while he bids goodbyes and goodnights (and he can’t even leave without saying them, has tried in the past and failed) and makes his way towards the bedroom where everybody’s coats are lying in a heap.

“I haven’t been drinking tonight if you want me to drive,” Bahorel says while they descend the staircase, and Jehan nods his head. It’s early enough that he can believe it.

Bahorel lives not too far away from Courfeyrac, but far enough that they’re in the poorer part of town and pulling into a public parking spot on the side of the road beside the small house Bahorel has spent most of his life living in. Sometimes, he moves out and into shitty apartments, but they’re always too far away and he always runs out of money too fast, landing him back in his mother’s house. She’s asleep when they get there and they keep their voices down as they make their way to the second floor and into Bahorel’s room.

He doesn’t turn on the light—the stars are glowing, however faintly, and Jehan smiles at them as he takes a seat at the end of Bahorel’s bed.

“Was I right?” Bahorel asks, sitting next to him and kicking off his shoes.

“I think you were.”

It’s been a little while since they’ve spent time alone together, but Jehan doesn’t mind because he hasn’t actually been in the mood to do anything since the last time they did and besides that, he doesn’t expect Bahorel to remain completely celibate for his sake. As it stands, Bahorel’s tugging off his shirt now, revealing a body that’s been kept fit by rigorous physical activity and a few tattoos besides, and Jehan wants him like he sometimes feels it in himself to want.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Bahorel says suddenly, and Jehan shakes his head and pulls his own loose sweater up from over his head. The moonlight shines in through the window, right above an empty fishbowl that still has a few blue rocks and fake green plants and for a second, Jehan feels almost holy looking at it. He gets the feeling often enough that he can recognize it, now, and it’s usually a promise from God that whatever he’s doing is the right thing to do.

“I want to,” he says, and he lets his shoes slide off his feet before pulling his legs up onto the bed and crowding into Bahorel’s space. Warm hands grab his arms before wrapping around him and pulling him into a good, firm kiss. “I want to feel permanent,” he says, and Bahorel laughs, kissing the side of his face.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he says. “We’re all a very temporary people, you know? But I think I know what you mean, and I’ll do my best.”

He wants to feel like he’s real and solid in a universe that’s comprised, primarily, of hot gas and dust. Bahorel kisses him again and he kisses back, reaching his hand between them so he can undo Bahorel’s belt and zipper.

“Want me to fuck you?” Bahorel asks with a sly grin on his mouth. Jehan nods his head.

“Yeah, I do. Are you going to do it, or what?”


End file.
